


How much for the night?

by biancadelfellatio



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Stripper!john, Strippers & Strip Clubs, i mean they're in a strip club so, some suggested sexual stuff i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 19:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7281220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biancadelfellatio/pseuds/biancadelfellatio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock initially only enters the strip club to track a suspect, but he ends up noticing one of the male dancers. Instead of paying him for sex, he simply pays him for his time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How much for the night?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this at 4a.m. I have not slept yet. Why? I cannot get the "exotic dancer John" headcanon out of my brain.
> 
> You know, the one with "Mrs. Hudson's School of Dance"?
> 
> I put in my earbuds. Perhaps music will help. Alas, it only morphs the idea. John is now a stripper. Every song I listen to is one he dances to on his pole. Sherlock is entranced. I can't escape.
> 
> So, naturally, I typed this whole thing on my phone at 2a.m. in the hopes that now I'll be able to get some sleep. It's bad. I know. It's riddled with errors. I'll fix those at a more reasonable time.
> 
> It's also not done because typing with two fingers on a miniscule keyboard is a pain, but I promise not to leave this unfinished. My brain had already mapped out the whole thing, do not fret.
> 
> Also, tomorrow I'll probably change dollars to whatever they use in England now. I'm too tired to care at the moment. Is it still pounds? Is it Euros? I haven't visited since like 2007. Fuck. Anyway, here's this. Gotta go die now.

  
Sherlock groaned as he walked into the gentleman's club. What an ironic name. The place was frequented by pigs of men, like Dewey Drumpf, the pig suspected for the murder of a young prostitute. Sherlock had been tracking his movement all day, and that had led him here, to the strip club.

He walked through the doors and tried to ignore the smell of sweat and semen as he found a table and sat down. He had a good view of Dewey - he was sitting across from him, the two men separated by a raised metal platform holding three metal poles that reached up into the ceiling. All three poles were occupied by girls only in panties, though Sherlock didn't pay them much attention. He was here for Dewey, and Dewey only.

"Hey there, luv." Sherlock was pulled out of his analysis of his suspect as a waitress leaned over his table, her top riding dangerously low.

"A man like you looks like 'e could use a drink. Will you be having anythin' this evening?"

Sherlock figured he should order something for the sake of looking like a normal customer. "What do you recommend?"

"We make a mean 'sex on the beach'."

"I'll have that then." Sherlock smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. The waitress gave him a wink before trotting off, and he shook his head, turning his attention back to his man.

He fit in with the other clientele - greasy, single men, here after work due to having no fulfilling relationship. Sherlock could note a tan line on some of the fingers of the men close to him. Recently divorced or cheating, apparently. Disgusting.

More curiously, Sherlock noted, was the presence of several women in the club who weren't employees. They sat at the tables like the men, some in pairs. Lesbians, perhaps? Rather bold in this setting, but Sherlock was in no position to cast judgement on anyone's sexuality.

The waitress brought his drink by shortly, and he took a sip out of habit, making a face. Vodka. A lot of it. Sherlock wasn't too familiar with alcoholic drinks, but he was pretty sure his drink wasn't supposed to be 3/4's vodka. He groaned again and held the drink, sipping it slowly while keeping his eyes on his subject.

Dewey was still in his office clothes from work, but he had loosened his tie and unflattering sweat stains were blooming under his armpits. He grinned stupidly, sometimes walking up to the stage to slip bills into the girls' underwear, but always returning to his chair to lean back and watch them with that stupid, stupid horny expression. Sherlock was repulsed. He took a larger gulp of his drink.

The stripper on the center pole stepped gracefully off the stage, walking to a client and dragging him off somewhere away from the crowd. Sherlock heard a cheer go up from some of the women watching the strippers, and his attention was pulled from Dewey as he watched, a bit shocked, as a new performer took center stage. The club had hired a male stripper, apparently.

Sherlock figured the owners must have been trying to attract female clientele. Bold, but it was working. As this man started to shift around the pole, several of the girls came over to tuck money into his significantly tight pants.

Sherlock knew he was deviating from his purpose for being at the club by watching the man, but he found himself a bit entranced by the movement. He was dressed in the most prestigious way Sherlock supposed a male stripper could dress - black pants, a tie, and shiny black dress shoes. His chest was bare and tanned, flecked lightly with golden hair that matched the hair on his head. He was obviously very toned, dancing on his pole with smooth elegance.

The man caught Sherlock staring at him and Sherlock turned red at the eye contact, hastily taking a swig of his drink as an excuse to break it. He could feel the warmth start to prickle in various organs due to the alcohol. Ah, shit - getting drunk wasn't part of the plan.

Sherlock trained his eyes on Dewey before they deviated and began to wander back to the stripper. Sherlock chastised himself but didn't look away. He moved in such perfect time to the loud, blaring music; it made the crowded atmosphere tolerable. Sherlock drank a bit more absentmindedly as the edges of his vision began to blur out, leaving only himself and the man with his carefully rehearsed dance in the room. The stripper was now looking at Sherlock wholeheartedly, offering him a smile when he came around a turn or a teasing glance when he walked around to the opposite side of the stage.

Sherlock realized his drink was empty, and his focus broke as he set the cup back down on the table with an uncoordinated clunk. He remembered why he was here - Dewey! - and looked for him briefly, finding he had been taken to a room in the back by one of the girls. So there was no rush, then. Sherlock leaned back in his chair and turned his focus back to the stripper. He could feel the flush in his cheeks, but it was unpreventable at this point.

The stripper danced a few more songs before heading down the stairs off the stage. A girl without her top on quickly took his place.

The man blew a kiss to a couple of the ladies who had paid him earlier, but then turned his back on them and walked over to Sherlock, who simply gazed up at him, expressionless.

"Hey, tiger," the man said, his eyes dark. He reached a hand out to place it on the back of Sherlock's.

"What do we say we take it to the back? I've been watching you the entire night. I think the feeling's mutual."

Sherlock just stared at the stripper. He was not one to be lost for words, but his wit was impaired, and he had never been in such a situation before. The man took his hand confidently and started tugging him to the back of the club, Sherlock not in a state to protest. He blinked rapidly as he walked, trying to clear his head enough to protest. Everything was foggy.

He was lead to a miniscule room, large enough only to house a repulsive-looking bed and shoddy lamp. The man gently pushed Sherlock into a sitting position on the bed, closing the curtain that sectioned off the room and gave them privacy. Sherlock could hear thumping and moaning noises coming from the rooms beside him.

The man walked over to Sherlock and took his hand, putting his tie into it. He then climbed on top of Sherlock, straddling him, and started moving his hips slowly; sensually.

"All right? You can do whatever you like with me," the man murmured, holding onto Sherlock shoulders. He lowered his face, hot breath ghosting across Sherlock's lips before the man took his in a large, open-mouthed kiss.

Sherlock's brain kicked into gear at the sensation and his eyes widened, his head coming back into partial clarity. He pulled back from the kiss sharply. The man looked confused, but continued grinding down on Sherlock.

"Please - please stop that," Sherlock managed to get out. The man's mouth hung open, but he ceased all movement.

"Come again?"

"Please just...get off me. If you don't mind."

The man removed himself from the bed and stood in front of Sherlock awkwardly, not knowing what to do with himself. This had obviously never happened to him before.

"Sorry, you /don't/ want to have sex with me?!"

Sherlock frowned. "No, of course not."

"God! Shit!" the man swore, taking a step backwards and leaning against the wall. "Don't tell me you're straight! You were staring at me the entire time! I thought...fuck."

"No, I'm most certainly not." Sherlock's face bore no expression again, having regained some of his composure. "I'll still pay for your time, however, I don't wish to engage in any sexual activities."

"Yeah, well, that's my fuckin' job," the man spat, obviously irritated. He ran his hands through his hair and started for the curtain.

"Wait! I still want to pay." The man stopped and turned to him as Sherlock dug though his pockets.

"Well, I didn't actually do - "

"How long will this get me?" Sherlock asked, pulling out a stack of twenties. He had gone to the bank a few days previous; they were still wrapped together with a white paper band, the bills in pristine condition.

The man gaped at the stack, snatching it from Sherlock when he offered it.

"Holy...this is almost $500. Hell, you can have me for the entire night. I can do a lot of things for this much; I can bottom, I can do BDSM, I can-"

"No, none of that," Sherlock interrupted. "I just want to pay for your company."

"Whatever you like."

Sherlock gestured to the bed beside him, and the man sat down, looking at Sherlock in bewilderment. Sherlock extended a hand.

"I'm Sherlock."

"John." He shook Sherlock's hand firmly, staring at him. His eyes appeared significantly less dark than before, and Sherlock could see flecks of gold in his irises.

"Pleasure."

They sat in silence for a few moments before John asked, "Are you sure you don't want me to touch you, because normally - "

"Thank you, John, but I'll be having none of that. Do you, erm, drink coffee?"

"Yeah, I guess?"

"I have an impending hangover, and I'd much rather spend the time I paid for with you accompanying me to a café. Would that be satisfactory?"

"Whatever you say, I'll be more than happy to do."

"Perfect. There's a coffee shop a short walk away. Do you have a shirt?"

"Yeah." John stood hurriedly. "I'll go grab it. Be back in a jiff."


End file.
